


Mine To Break And Mold

by rebooting



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bloodplay, Bondage, Forced Orgasm, M/M, Sexual Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-27
Updated: 2011-05-27
Packaged: 2017-10-19 19:49:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,244
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/204581
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rebooting/pseuds/rebooting
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for the following prompt: Supernatural - Castiel/Balthazar - His to break and mold. (would love to have some Bal begging). Further summary with spoilers inside. Spoilers for 6.22</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mine To Break And Mold

**Author's Note:**

> After he declares himself the new God, Castiel has some chastising of a certain traitor to take care of.

Not so long ago, Castiel would not have been able to do this. But not so long ago, Castiel was less, so much less than he is now. So reduced from what he should have been, what he should have realised was the only option. With his Father gone, uncaring, what other choice did he have?

"The good shall be rewarded, and the wicked punished," he murmurs, surveying the still, trembling form on the floor in front of him. Blood clings to Balthazar's back where the sword penetrated, and Castiel knows that Balthazar still feels the presence of that sword, even with the wound healed. He willed it to be so, and so it is, because that is the power of their new God. One who will not forsake His children, the way Castiel's Father did. One who will reward those who do his works, and punish those who do not.

He has always loved Balthazar, but betrayal cannot be permitted. He loves his brother enough to restore his life – he's not a cruel God, he can understand that Balthazar had a lapse in judgement, he can be magnanimous and forgiving – but that certainly doesn't mean that Balthazar will go unpunished.

"Balthazar," he says gently, leaning down to grip his brother's chin and turn his head, forcing Balthazar to look at him. He smiles, seeing the shock in Balthazar's eyes, and croons, "I'm very displeased with you, Balthazar."

He doesn't give Balthazar time to reply, backhanding him viciously. He watches as Balthazar works his jaw and spits blood onto the floor, and then his brother remarks, "Why, Cas, if I'd known you liked it rough, I'd have offered months ago."

Castiel has never liked Balthazar's sharp tongue. His hand snaps out to grasp the angel by the throat, forcing him to stand or be throttled. Standing isn't enough, though; Castiel forces Balthazar back until he bumps into the heavy mahogany desk in the office Castiel appropriated. If he is to be a proper God, a God who cares for His worshippers, he needs a base of operations on Earth, after all, and he can't think of a better way to consecrate it than this.

Balthazar is about to protest, but Castiel forestalls it, bringing his knee up sharply into Balthazar's gut. While Balthazar is fighting to regain his breath, Castiel forces him to turn, drags his arms across the desk until he's bent over it, and with one swift, vicious movement, stabs the sword through Balthazar's forearms where they're crossed over each other, and into the table.

Balthazar screams, and Castiel smiles. He walks around the desk, watching as Balthazar struggles to keep still, to keep the blade through his arms from cutting deeper, and breathes in short, ragged gasps. The sound is lovely, and Castiel finds that he wants to hear more of it. He pauses behind Balthazar, leaning over his stricken brother and brushing Balthazar's hair off his forehead in a parody of gentleness, whispering, "You said I'd always have you, Balthazar. And so I do."

"Cas," Balthazar gasps, craning his neck to try to look at Castiel, like he thinks that looking him in the eye will change anything. "'Cas, you don't have to-"

"Shh," Castiel remonstrates, putting his hand over Balthazar's mouth to cut off the protest. "I don't want to hear you speak unless you're begging for forgiveness, Balthazar. And I want you to mean it. I'm tired of you lying to me."

Balthazar has always been the type to run away, the type to lie, to double-cross. Castiel loves his brother, but he's aware of Balthazar's defects. But he can change those now. He has that right.

It's a mere matter of thought to have a heavy, knot-ended cat o'nine tails in his hands. He hefts it, testing the weight, and then moves a few steps away from Balthazar. He can see Balthazar's muscles tensing as he strains to see Castiel without moving his arms enough to make the sword cut him further. Castiel smiles again and quite deliberately takes a step to the left, into Balthazar's blind spot. The punishment will be so much more effective if Balthazar can't anticipate the pain.

The first lick of the lash is barely anything, a mere kiss that tears the fabric of Balthazar's shirt and bares his skin in ragged strips. Castiel finds that he likes the aesthetic, shreds of colour over pale skin, and decides to mimic it with the whip. It will require the shirt being removed, of course, but the knots should take care of most of that. He smiles, murmuring a soft benediction, and swings the lash again.

Balthazar doesn't scream until the fifth strike, when the knots at the end of three of the tails bite into his side. It's not the sort of scream that Castiel wants, though, and Balthazar spoils it by gasping, "We haven't even discussed safewords, darling."

Frowning – Balthazar's voice is lovely, but Castiel wants it raised in supplication, not sarcasm – he swings the lash again, putting more of his strength behind it. Not all his strength, of course – he wants to hurt Balthazar, not flay him to the bone. It's enough that Balthazar's skin tears, finally showing Castiel the bright blood he wants to see, and Castiel smiles as Balthazar screams again. That's more like it.

He doesn't lay the cat o'nine tails down until Balthazar's back is raw and red, until the knots are wet with blood. He tucks it through his belt and strolls over to the table, where Balthazar has stopped screaming and subsided into soft, whimpered gasps, trembling violently. Trickles of blood are forming patterns down Balthazar's sides, running over his shoulders and neck into his hair, and Castiel smiles as he twists his fingers into that hair, staining them with blood and sweat. He pulls Balthazar's head back, relishing the weak cry of pain as the movement jars his brother's arms, and leans down to press a kiss to Balthazar's forehead.

"You are imperfect," he murmurs, smiling benignly. "An unfit vessel for the Grace which inhabits you."

"N-never claimed to b-be perfect, darling," Balthazar manages to gasp. Castiel tightens his fingers in Balthazar's hair in warning; he does not appreciate being interrupted.

"You are imperfect," he repeats. "A flawed vessel. But I will reforge you."

He pulls the sword from the table easily, pulls Balthazar's arms with his other hand so that as the sword comes away it doesn't leave its sheath of flesh. With a thought he has a length of rope in his hands, and he twists it around Balthazar's arms and around the sword, keeping the blade firmly between the bones of Balthazar's arms as he binds his brother's arms in front of him, hands together like a supplicant at prayer. He forces Balthazar to his knees, pleased by the contrast of humble posture and arrogant expression; even now, Balthazar has steel in his spine.

Castiel will see to that.

As he circles Balthazar, he can see the angel's muscles tensing, thigh muscles bunching in preparation to rise. He's planning to attack Castiel, of that Castiel is fairly certain, and the sheer arrogance is at once irritating and charming. How like Balthazar, to think he can _hope_ to best Castiel now. He waits until Balthazar has almost gathered himself to surge to his feet, and then he has two more angel swords in his hands, and _then_ , with the music of Balthazar's screams in his ears, those swords are pinning Balthazar's legs to the floor, one through each calf.

Balthazar is a creature of arrogance, conceit, cowardice, and deceit. Castiel will burn those impurities away, and pain is one of the hottest fires.

The souls roiling within him give him power unimaginable; it takes barely a thimbleful of that power to have a chain come ratting down from the ceiling. He hooks the chain to the rope around Balthazar's arms and hoists it back up, until Balthazar has a choice: he can lift himself up so that his weight isn't on the sword through his arms, or he can carry his weight on his arms and give himself some relief from the swords through his legs.

And Castiel just watches. He goes to the leather chair behind the desk and sits, meticulously cleaning Balthazar's blood from the desk, except for the blood which has pooled in the hole left by the sword. He leaves _that_ blood where it is and simply covers it with a sheet of crystal-clear glass, preserving it as a reminder. He pours a glass of water and sips it, watching as Balthazar struggles to find a balance that he can tolerate. The pained little whimpers that he lets slip out are beautiful, Castiel decides; he's going to have to find a way to make Balthazar make more of them.

Eventually, when Balthazar's arms are streaked with blood and trembling from the effort of keeping them up without letting the rope drag on the sword through his arms, Castiel takes mercy on him. He gets up and walks over to Balthazar, kneeling in front of him and taking Balthazar's chin in one hand, setting the glass of water to his lips, murmuring, "Drink."

Balthazar drinks obediently for a little, taking enough water to moisten his mouth – and then he spits a mouthful in Castiel's face.

Castiel pulls back, looking at Balthazar steadily, and says quietly, "That wasn't very wise, Balthazar."

"You know me, Cas," Balthazar says, his voice slurring a little with pain. "Never was all that good at being wise."

Castiel smiles, reaching up to caress Balthazar's hair gently. He fists his hand in Balthazar's hair and yanks him forward, ignoring the cry of pain Balthazar lets out as the movement jars the swords through his arms and legs, and presses his lips against Balthazar's.

The startled little sound that slips from Balthazar's lips is enough to tell Castiel that this tactic might prove more effective than straight pain. Startlement is much, much better than the sass that Balthazar has been showing so far.

He keeps kissing Balthazar, keeping his hand twisted in Balthazar's hair to keep his head still. He takes full advantage of his power, forcing the kiss to continue until Balthazar is gasping for breath against Castiel's lips, no longer fighting the kiss. Only then does Castiel pull back, allowing the angel to breathe properly.

"Cas, please," Balthazar says quietly. The _words_ are right, but the tone isn’t. "Not like this."

Castiel leans down and yanks the sword out of Balthazar's left leg, smiling savagely at the cry of pain his brother lets out. He holds the weapon up in front of Balthazar's face, watching the tiny flinch and the way Balthazar swallows convulsively, and then carefully wipes the blade down the side of Balthazar's face, smearing the blood over his cheek. He follows suit with the sword in Balthazar's right leg, painting Balthazar's face in crimson.

His brother, he thinks idly, looks lovely in red.

Once Balthazar's legs are freed, Castiel drags him to his feet, releasing the chain holding his arms. The choked sound of combined pain and relief that Balthazar lets out when he's finally able to stop putting weight on his wounded arms shoots right to Castiel's cock, sending a hot curl of lust through him. He'd known, since taking on the souls that allowed him godhood, that he would have to punish Balthazar – he just never expected that he would enjoy it like this.

Balthazar's steps are stumbling and awkward as Castiel drags him over to the desk, leaving spots of blood in their wake. Once there, with Balthazar forced onto his back on the desk, Castiel is torn. There are so many options, so many beautiful ways to break his recalcitrant brother. How is he supposed to decide?

The blood streaking Balthazar's arms is getting slightly worryingly thick. He sighs, untying the ropes and swiftly pulling the sword out, eliciting another agonised scream. He examines the wounds clinically, ignoring the gasps that Balthazar lets out as he probes into the bloody mess; the edges are clean, at least, and it doesn't look like he hit anything important. A thought brings in a bowl of warm water, a bottle of antiseptic, some cleaning cloths, and some bandages, and he sets about cleaning and bandaging the wounds, keeping Balthazar pinned on his back on the desk by the simple expedient of kneeling astride his thighs.

Balthazar's breathing has quickened, and he's biting his lip against the pain, both from his arms being tended to and from his still-raw back against the smooth wood of the desk. When Castiel finishes with his wrists, he pushes himself up and off the desk, but when Balthazar starts to sit up, Castiel waves the sword he took from Balthazar's wrists, still sticky with blood.

"Don't," he warns. "Or it goes through your stomach next."

Balthazar swallows thickly and stays put, letting Castiel tend to the wounds in his calves. He's lost a fair bit of blood – not enough to be dangerous, not to an angel, but Castiel is fairly certain that Balthazar can’t be feeling particularly strong right now – and his pants from the knees down are saturated with it. Castiel makes a quiet sound of distaste and uses one of the angel swords to slice down the sides of the blood-soaked garment, stripping it off. Balthazar does sit up at that, setting one hand against Castiel's shoulder and trying to shove him away, but between his injuries, the blood loss, and Castiel's power, increased by magnitudes, he might as well be trying to move a mountain.

Castiel raises an eyebrow, waving the tip of the sword back and forth in a chiding gesture, smiling a little at the way Balthazar's eyes almost unwillingly follow the movement of the sword, one of his arms moving protectively to cover his stomach. Castiel doesn't intend to carry out that threat, though, not yet – he doesn't want to risk Balthazar losing consciousness before Castiel is ready for him to.

"You've never been good at obeying orders," he says clinically, looking up at Balthazar. The juxtaposition of their relative positions – Balthazar on the desk, Castiel kneeling on the floor from tending to his leg wounds – and the painfully obvious balance of power is delightful, and he can't help laughing softly at it. He taps the sword against Balthazar's bare thigh, smiling at the way the angel flinches, and adds, "You'll learn."

He's up in a fluid movement, setting himself between Balthazar's thighs and kissing him again, hard and rough. One hand is braced on Balthazar's leg, the pressure uncomfortably hard enough to make sure Balthazar knows that moving is _not_ an option; the other finds its way back into Balthazar's hair, stiff now with blood and sweat, and directs the kiss mercilessly. He can feel the weakness in his brother's body, this close, and he knows that he's going to have to make a few adjustments if this cleansing of Balthazar's flaws is going to work. As he kisses Balthazar, ignoring any of the angel's attempts to soften the kiss – although he's pleased that Balthazar has learned enough not to _fight_ it this time – he draws up some of his power, exhaling it into Balthazar's body like he's giving him CPR. He doesn't want it spreading indiscriminately, though, so he directs it, bolstering Balthazar's stamina to forestall unconsciousness but leaving the other effects of blood loss.

His hands are still slick with Balthazar's blood. He shifts his hand from Balthazar's leg, leaving a bloody handprint on the angel's thigh, and wraps it around Balthazar's cock, ignoring the startled protest that Balthazar gasps against his lips. Balthazar's arms come up to shove at Castiel, but Castiel picks up one of the angel swords with his free hand, tapping it against the side of Balthazar's face and murmuring, "Stay still. You know they won't hurt me anymore, and I can bring you back as often as I have to."

Balthazar goes still at the dual threat, and Castiel smiles, leaning in to kiss him again as he starts to pump Balthazar's cock in slow, measured strokes. He's getting blood _everywhere_ , but the contrast between the blood and Balthazar's pale skin – paler now, with how much blood he's lost – is interesting, and the copper tang on his tongue as he forces it into Balthazar's mouth doesn't hurt his arousal any.

The pain is obviously making it difficult for Balthazar to get hard; for all he's a sensualist, he's clearly not a masochist. That's all right, Castiel decides, breathing another shot of power through the kiss, directing this one to a very specific part of Balthazar's brain. The difference between pain and pleasure is a matter of neurotransmitters, after all, and Castiel would be a very poor God if he couldn't make adjustments to such things.

The breathless gasp Balthazar lets out tells him that _that_ was a particularly good idea, and the way Balthazar's cock hardens in his hand confirms it. He smiles as he keeps kissing Balthazar, setting the angel sword on the table beside them – almost tempting Balthazar, because he's a little curious – and slipping that hand up to cup Balthazar's jaw, forcing his mouth open wider to let Castiel's tongue in. He can still taste blood in Balthazar's mouth, from a bitten lip or a cut cheek, and the sharp taste sends another hot curl of arousal through him.

He keeps the movement of his hand on Balthazar's cock as slow and languid as the kiss is hard and brutal, delighting in the contrast. He can tell, from the way Balthazar's breathing stutters and his entire body tenses, that his brother is confused about why he's getting aroused when he's as weak as he is, in as much pain as he is, and _that_ delights Castiel, too. That confusion is exactly what he needs to help burn away the impurities of Balthazar's character.

He breaks the kiss eventually, when Balthazar's cock is completely hard in his hand, and bends his head to tease Balthazar's nipples, speeding up his strokes as he does. Balthazar's cock twitches in his hand when he bites a nipple, eliciting something halfway between a yelp and a groan, and Balthazar gasps, "Cas, _please_ –"

He's not a cruel God, but he's a wise God, and he knows when to ignore pleas. Balthazar doesn't mean it yet, not properly.

He bites and sucks at Balthazar's nipples until they're stiff and reddened, and thanks to Castiel's little tweak of Balthazar's neurology, any pain – and Castiel is certain there's pain, is making quite _sure_ that there's pain – brings an equal amount of pleasure, without being diminished itself. He catches Balthazar's hands moving a few times in aborted attempts to grab for the angel swords lying so close on the desk, but Balthazar seems to be controlling _that_ particular urge well enough. Or perhaps he's just accepted that trying to stab Castiel with one of those swords would be nothing short of futile.

Eventually, Balthazar's breathing starts coming in short, sharp gasps, and Castiel sees his hands curl around the edge of the desk, white-knuckled. He smiles, biting Balthazar's left nipple hard enough to leave a mark as he rubs his palm over the head of Balthazar's cock, and that seems to do it. Balthazar is quiet when he comes; the only noise he lets out is a moan that dies strangled in his throat, never reaching his lips. It's an interesting sound, but Castiel is determined that he will get screams by the time he's finished, and he's very definitely _not_ finished yet.

He doesn't give Balthazar time to recover. He leans up to kiss him briefly, giving him another shot of power that will keep him from flagging too soon, and then kneels between Balthazar's legs and takes his cock into his mouth. The mingling flavours of blood and come on his tongue provide an interesting contrast, and the sharp yelp that Balthazar doesn't manage to keep back as Castiel runs his tongue along the underside of his cock is _almost_ perfect.

This close, humming around the organ in his mouth, Castiel is very aware of the tensing of the muscles in Balthazar's legs, and he immediately reaches up to snag one of the angel swords, tapping the tip of it against Balthazar's ankle in warning: if Balthazar doesn't keep his ass still, Castiel will sever his Achilles tendons.

This soon after orgasm, Balthazar is obviously still sensitive, and he's letting out some wonderfully shaky whimpers, hands curled around the edge of the desk in a futile attempt to give himself something else to focus on. Testing the limits of the tampering he did in Balthazar's brain, Castiel presses his fingers against one of the wounds in Balthazar's calf. As Balthazar screams, his cock hardens, and Castiel allows himself to feel triumphant. There are deeper levels of pain, of course, but he doesn't feel the need to test those – yet.

"What the hell did you do to me?" Balthazar demands, his voice beautifully weak. That stands to reason – if the pleasure is equal to the pain, Castiel's actually rather impressed that Balthazar can form words at all. He can't be allowed to blaspheme that way, though. Castiel presses his fingers against the bandage protecting Balthazar's wounded leg again, harder this time, and keeps the pressure constant as he brings his other hand up to start working at Balthazar's balls. The strangled scream that follows, along with the taste of semen as he comes again, is enough for now. Castiel will find out later if he's properly contrite and act accordingly.

For now, he swallows and stands, pulling Balthazar into another kiss, feeding more power into him. He's not giving him much time to protest or to recover, and that's exactly as he planned; he wants to overwhelm his arrogant, beautiful, foolhardy brother. Once he's torn down every wall Balthazar has, he can begin to rebuild him to his liking.

"I am your God," he murmurs, pulling back from the kiss. "I can reshape you as I see fit."

Balthazar looks a little sick at that proclamation, which is interesting, but not in Castiel's Plan. (He realises, vaguely, that he started thinking of it with a capital P at some point, and why shouldn't he? He _is_ God, now, a _proper_ God. He has the right.) He takes hold of Balthazar's shoulders and pulls him off the desk, turning them so that Castiel's back is to the desk and pushing Balthazar down into the leather chair. He sits on the edge of the desk, placing his feet on either side of Balthazar's legs and resting his elbows on his knees, leaning forward to look at Balthazar.

"What did you _do_?" Balthazar demands, although he seems to have learned his lesson about blasphemy. There's still entirely too much self-assurance in his eyes, but Castiel has Plans for that.

He smiles benignly, the picture of a benevolent God, and says simply, "I made some adjustments."

" _Adjustments_? I'll have you know this was a perfectly serviceable body," Balthazar complains. He doesn't get the chance to say anything else, though, because Castiel lifts his foot and rubs it against the bandages on Balthazar's leg, and the breathy gasp that slips free is equal parts pain and pleasure. Castiel smiles again, reaching out to grip Balthazar's chin and drag him forward into a kiss, slipping his other hand down to viciously twist Balthazar's right nipple. The pain has a second purpose now: to let Balthazar know _exactly_ what it is Castiel has done.

By the time he lets Balthazar fall back into the chair, the self-confidence in the angel's eyes is shaken, shadowed by something that Castiel thinks is deliciously close to terror. _Nothing_ Castiel has done – this time – could be considered sexual, with the possible exception of the brutal kiss that has left Balthazar's lips swollen and bitten, but Balthazar's cock has hardened again anyway, testament to Castiel's power.

And Castiel leaves him there for a while, pouring himself another glass of water and drinking it as he watches Balthazar trying not to squirm in the chair. He knows that the wounds in Balthazar's arms and legs will be hurting – and that that hurt is the reason Balthazar's erection isn't flagging, is, in fact, only getting harder as the minutes tick by. His water finished, Castiel stands, giving Balthazar a warm smile and saying, "You stay sitting there while I clean up. You shouldn't be walking on those legs yet."

It's not mercy. He listens to the soft, increasingly desperate sounds Balthazar tries to choke back as Castiel moves about the office, cleaning up the blood stains. He takes his time about it, returning to the desk perhaps half an hour later. Balthazar has had the self-control to not start trying to jerk himself off, but he's still fidgeting, obviously trying to find a position that doesn't cause as much pain as the others.

Castiel smiles again, reaching out to help Balthazar to his feet. He pulls Balthazar close to his side, fingers tight and possessive against his hip, and then translocates them to a bedroom. Where the bedroom came from originally he doesn't know or much care; he just decided that he required a certain type of bedroom, and now here it is. He lays Balthazar on the bed, smiling again as the touch of fabric against Balthazar's raw back makes the angel whimper in both pain and need.

"Cas—"

"Shh." He shrugs off his coat and strips off his shirt, tossing them aside. He doesn't intend to fuck Balthazar yet, not until the angel is begging him for it, but that doesn't mean he can't get more comfortable. Leaving his pants for the time being, he drapes himself along Balthazar's side, running his hand over Balthazar's chest almost idly.

The self-confidence that has always been manifest in Balthazar is shaken, and that's all according to Castiel's Plan, but he has to do better. Still, he _is_ a God. He has as long as he needs.

"Cas—"

" _Hush_." He twists Balthazar's nipple again, drawing another sharp cry that isn't sure whether it's pain or pleasure. He lazily runs his other hand down Balthazar's side and over his thigh until he can wrap it around Balthazar's cock, although he doesn't start stroking. He encircles the base firmly, squeezing a little to draw out another gasped moan, and murmurs, "You're the sensualist amongst us, Balthazar. Do you think it's possible to have too much pleasure?"

He forestalls an actual answer by pressing his fingers against the wound on Balthazar's arm, and smiles at the corresponding sound that Balthazar can't keep back anymore.

"It would be an interesting experiment." He strokes Balthazar's cock once, palming the head, before encircling the base again. "Especially with you in the state you're in now." More pressure against the wound; another strangled cry, and Balthazar seems unable to try to push him away now. Castiel smiles, pleased with this progress, and adds, "Any pain you feel will be pleasure as well. How long do you think it would take for you to be unable to differentiate between the two?"

"Cas, please—"

"Shh." He leans in to kiss Balthazar, silencing his protest. "I'm talking, Balthazar."

"You obviously haven't heard of a refractory period," Balthazar shoots back, ignoring Castiel's reprimand. The defiance is weak, though, and amusing; Balthazar obviously doesn't comprehend exactly _what_ Castiel has done to him.

"You're worried about this?" he asks, squeezing the base of Balthazar's cock again. "We can keep our vessels whole and functioning as angels, Balthazar; how much more do you think I can do, as God? Two orgasms already and you're still aroused; that puts your little theory about refractory periods firmly in the 'unimportant' pile," he finishes, smiling as realisation finally sinks in and Balthazar's expression turns something rather close to frightened. "You'll stay awake and healthy and _hard_ ," stroking Balthazar's cock for emphasis, "as long as I want you to."

"Castiel, _please_ —"

Oh, using his full name now? That's rather lovely. Castiel still silences Balthazar with another kiss, but he shows a _little_ mercy and doesn't torment one of the already-injured parts of the angel's body. He does start stroking Balthazar's cock slowly, drawing each stroke out as long as possible.

" _My Lord_ ," he corrects, murmuring the words against Balthazar's lips. "The correct form of address for your God is My Lord."

"Castiel, you need _help_ —"

"You're a very slow learner," Castiel says, shaking his head as he sits up. They'll have to do this the hard way, then.

The bedroom he envisioned comes equipped with all sorts of interesting equipment, and it's the work of a moment, with Balthazar as weak as he is, to stretch his arms up above his head and bind his wrists to the wrought-iron headboard with a length of silk-wrapped rope. The position, muscles extended, can't be comfortable for his arms, but that serves Castiel's purpose.

He finds a rather attractive set of nipple clamps in the chest of drawers beside the bed, clover clamps wrought in silver, and he brings them to the bed. He leans over and sucks at Balthazar's left nipple until it stiffens into a tight peak, and then carefully attaches the clamp, smiling at the strangled moan that Balthazar tries to keep back. The second clamp swiftly follows suit, and Castiel idly tugs at the chain connecting them, eliciting another moan. Balthazar is practically contorting his body in an effort to shy away from Castiel, but with his wrists bound there isn't very far he can go. Castiel smiles at his effort, reaching down to stroke his cock twice before moving away again.

He takes his time collecting the things he's interested in; he's enjoying himself rather more than he'd assumed he would, when he began Balthazar's punishment, and it's really quite lovely to see the once-so-proud angel whimpering on the bed, his cock hard and dripping pre-come onto his belly.

Eventually he returns to the bed, carrying a tawse made of heavy leather. He sits beside Balthazar, leaning down to kiss him again – he will _never_ get tired of the taste of blood in Balthazar's mouth, he decides – and then begins to use the tawse on Balthazar's thighs, using enough of his strength that each strike leaves the skin reddened and, if the way Balthazar's cock is twitching is any indication, stinging _quite_ a bit.

He pauses when Balthazar comes again, biting back the cry that threatens to break free. He waits until the tremors that wrack Balthazar's body have subsided – and then he kisses him, yet again breathing power into him to restore his body and get rid of the annoying side-effects of prolonged erections that he just doesn't want to bother dealing with right now. Pulling back, he tugs on the chain connecting the nipple clamps until Balthazar whimpers sharply, biting his lip to attempt to keep quiet.

Castiel is determined to put an end to _that_ before too long. He won't tolerate Balthazar keeping things from him.

"This doesn't end until I say it does," he croons, trailing his fingers through the come on Balthazar's stomach and lifting his hand to Balthazar's face. His expectation is obvious, but he's almost pleased when Balthazar turns his head away, refusing to lick the come from Castiel's fingers. The alternative is just as enjoyable – for Castiel, at least.

"Have it your way," he shrugs, collecting one of the toys with his other hand. The long, slender vibrator isn't nearly the size of what Castiel intends to have in Balthazar by the end of this exercise, but it'll still need some lubrication. Not as much as if Castiel _hadn't_ altered the way Balthazar's brain processed pain, but some.

He lubricates it with Balthazar's semen, tugging the chain between the nipple clamps with his free hand to distract the angel enough to nudge his thighs apart, inserting the vibrator with rather less care than he might have used in another situation. Balthazar cries out harshly, writhing in a desperate attempt to wrench away from Castiel, but Castiel plants his hand firmly on Balthazar's thigh to hold him still, and switches the vibrator on.

And again, he stops touching Balthazar. He moves up to the head of the bed, sitting cross-legged with his back against the headboard, watching Balthazar writhe and moan under the onslaught of sensation. The sight sends another wave of lust pulsing through Castiel, and he slips his hand into his pants to start stroking himself slowly, watching as Balthazar slowly shakes himself apart. He's got enough control to keep his own ministrations slow enough that he's never brought to the edge, but he comes close several times; he manages to hold back by stopping and leaning over to kiss Balthazar each time he comes – and it's _definitely_ more times than anyone could physically handle without a God tampering – to impart more power, just enough to replenish Balthazar's body and erase the need for rest or cessation of stimulation. Either of those would be counter to the point of the exercise.

He indulges himself a few times, reaching down to tug at the chain to drag a sharp yelp from Balthazar. Eventually, when Balthazar's sounds have dropped to soft, desperate whimpers, he hears what he's been waiting for.

"My Lord." Balthazar's voice is exhausted, shaky, beautiful. "Please, my Lord, _please_ stop—"

He can't even finish the sentence properly before he comes again, arching off the bed with a little mewling whimper, trying to turn towards Castiel. He manages a half-turn, one that must be excruciating for his bound arms – the way his cock jerks indicates that _something_ hurts – and nuzzles his head against Castiel's knee, whispering, "my Lord, _please_."

Castiel moves then, switching off and removing the vibrator and setting it aside. He presses a soft kiss to Balthazar's trembling thighs, moving up his body to carefully detach the nipple clamps. Balthazar cries out softly as the blood rushes back into his nipples, and Castiel leans down to kiss each one, keeping his ministrations gentle now. He's not _quite_ done, but he doesn't want Balthazar to know that – he needs to know if this capitulation is false or not.

When everything but the ropes are removed and Balthazar is still trembling and canting his body towards Castiel, Castiel kisses him softly, extending his power to the whip-welts and the sword wounds, deadening the nerves that are screaming in pain. Balthazar relaxes perceptibly beneath him, letting out a broken little moan of relief as the pain drains away. His eyes are closed, eyelashes fluttering against his cheeks, and his lips are bitten and swollen and slightly parted as he breathes in short gasps.

It _seems_ authentic, but Castiel needs to be sure – and he _wants_ to have this last act, too. He is God; it is his right. He leaves Balthazar's wrists bound and strips out of his trousers, settling himself between Balthazar's legs and using come – Balthazar's, and his own pre-come – as lubrication again. It's not a _lot_ , but the changes he made to Balthazar's brain are still there, and Castiel can heal any actual damage later.

Balthazar cries out sharply as Castiel presses inside him, and Castiel can see tears trickling from the corners of Balthazar's closed eyes. He feels a _little_ guilty about that, but he’ll fix it afterward, when he rebuilds Balthazar to _proper_ specifications. Besides, a part of him is entirely enamoured with seeing Balthazar like this, a stark contrast to the arrogant, self-assured bastard who ran off with half of Heaven's weapons.

He sets a punishing pace, pounding into Balthazar hard enough to hurt, fingers tight enough against his hips to leave marks. Balthazar is beyond crying out now, but he lets out a stream of low whimpers that only serve to fuel Castiel's desire. Unable to help himself, Castiel reaches out to twist Balthazar's nipple again, and the tortured moan that slips from the angel's lips is enough to send Castiel over the edge.

As he pulls out, he hears Balthazar whisper again, "please, my Lord, Castiel, please, _stop_ , I'm sorry—"

He takes pity, now. Balthazar has repented, and Castiel is a forgiving God. He reaches into Balthazar's body and takes back his power, save for that which is keeping Balthazar from feeling the pain of his wounds and that which is helping heal him. He reaches up and unties Balthazar's wrists, and collects the angel into his lap, holding his shuddering, trembling form close as he wraps his hand around Balthazar's cock and, stroking quickly and firmly, brings him to orgasm one last time.

Without Castiel's power to sustain him any longer, Balthazar drifts into something between unconsciousness and sleep almost before he finishes coming. Castiel cleans them both up with a thought, finding a blanket and spreading it over Balthazar with a gentleness at odds with the events of the last several hours. Balthazar _was_ his brother, after all, and Castiel _does_ still love him. The necessity of punishment doesn't change that.

He is about to extend his power once more and reverse the changes he made to Balthazar's brain, but then he pauses, looking down at the sleeping angel thoughtfully and eventually retrieving his power, leaving the changes untouched. He might have a use for another such demonstration in the future.


End file.
